


The Definition of a Reputation

by Pikachunicorn



Category: Wolverine and the X-Men (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, but lotsa fluff, teeny little bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 17:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4886020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pikachunicorn/pseuds/Pikachunicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evan can't even remember how it started. He can't remember the last time he got through a class undistracted. He can't remember the last time he didn't feel the tiniest bit self-conscious whenever they're together. Because, really, he can barely remember not being head of heels, madly, crazily, romcom-style, dorkily, pathetically in love with Quentin Quire...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Definition of a Reputation

**Author's Note:**

> Well, well, well... More Quevan fluff, of course. I just love writing these two confessing shit to each other.
> 
> In case it isn't embarrassingly obvious, this is shamelessly inspired by Nerdy by Busted. Basically, my childhood band. :')

Evan can't even remember how it started. He can't remember the last time he got through a class undistracted. He can't remember the last time he didn't feel the tiniest bit self-conscious whenever they're together. Because, _really_ , he can barely remember not being head of heels, madly, crazily, romcom-style, dorkily, pathetically in love with Quentin Quire.

He tries to just blend in when he's around the telepath, much preferring to input minimally and let Quentin take control of any conversation. Quentin likes talking. He's good at it. He always has something to say, and Evan appreciates all of it _\- even the obscenely profanity-filled bits._ Quentin's voice is a pretty good soundtrack to Evan's days, he finds.

Evan doesn't like talking so much, he worries he'll say something that'll be taken the wrong way. And he just doesn't think there are many interesting thoughts buzzing around in his head that need to be voiced. Quentin doesn't seem to mind... _Quentin doesn't even seem to notice..._

There are a lot of things Quentin doesn't seem to notice about Evan. In a way, Evan wants to be noticed. He wants all of Quentin's attention, but that would be selfish and extremely rude. Still, he feels terribly jealous whenever he watches his best friend flirt with Idie, or laugh with Glob, or even argue with Julian. To Evan, it's almost as if all of the kids at Jean Grey's have a reason to command Quentin's attention - all of them, _apart from him_. And in that sense, he's torn. He wants Quentin to notice him - he _really_ does. But silently sighing over a fruitless crush is better than the blatant rejection that Evan associates with receiving any attention from Quentin (he assumes attention would lead to Quentin noticing his thoughts - thoughts that are very focused on the telepath himself).

So, he usually sits silently and let's Quentin talk _at_ him, more than _to_ him. He fits into classes easily, and tries not to exhibit his powers too much.

And then he lets all of these thoughts to the front of his mind when he's alone, on the roof of the main building at sunset, on a Friday evening, as he is now. It's the same every week. Just him, his rocket boots and the orange sky. He likes it. It's quiet and reserved... Which means Quentin would probably hate it.

He sighs and looks out over the campus, yet again taking stock of the differences between them.

Quentin is the definition of a reputation. His life seems to be a permanent commitment to causing trouble and grabbing as much attention as he can. Class president, most intelligent kid in school and most powerful, too. His heart revolves around the school, and the family he's built for himself here (even if the idiot denies it, Evan sees the compassion in his expression when talking about some of the teachers and students). He listens to music too loudly; spray paints curse words on lockers, and seems to enjoy making himself appear far more careless than he is. His baggage is excessive, even if he hides it well. And Evan knows there are times when it really gets to him. As Quentin's best friend, it's his _job_ to notice that.

Evan is wallpaper. At least, that's what he aims for. Stick to the dress code, blend in, _hide_. Part of him aches to be normal. Or even, _'normal'_ for a mutant kid. Other than Quentin, Evan's best friend is a borderline middle-aged, psychotic, mutate mercenary who really doesn't seem to get that Evan does not appreciate PlayBoy magazines mysteriously appearing in his room every month or so. Evan studies and reads and sketches and writes poetry and researches mutant relations. He goes to bed early, eats his greens and aces every test due to pure hard work.

Quentin is trying to be somebody.

Evan is trying to _avoid_ being somebody.

Evan is more than certain that he'll only hold Quentin back. That's not fair. He has to put others' needs before his own, especially Quentin's.

He blinks up at the darkening volcanic-orange sky, attempting to empty his mind of all his thoughts on the previous subject. Although it seems Quentin's smile just won't get outta his head. He's huffing at this, when a voice speaks up behind him.

"If you're gonna jump, can you at least do a backflip or something?" Quentin sighs, standing over Evan and - although his eyes are shielded by obnoxiously large sunglasses - it's apparent he's rolling his eyes. "And let me film it.

"I come up here to think." Evan mumbles simply in reply. He's blushing already. Any of Quentin's attention, even relatively abusive comments, makes his cheeks heat.

"Since when?" Quentin wrinkles his nose up, before shrugging and apparently surmising that it would be acceptable to sit down beside Evan. His voice is more monotonous than usual, the lines between his brows etched deeper. Evan notes this. It worries him a little.

"About the last four months. Every Friday." He answers calmly, though his heart races because, _what if he says the wrong thing?!_ "Are you- Ummm... You seem different? Are you alright?"

"I need time to think sometimes too." Quentin starts sharply, staring out into the sunset blankly, before sighing and dropping his head. "I come up here this day every year... This is actually the day I found out I was, y'know... Like, adopted. Or whatever."

"Oh..." Evan is unsure how to respond. He's never seen Quentin like this. Especially not over something so... _Human_. Here, he's not the omega-level telepath. Here, he's just a kid who struggles with abandonment issues and maybe, just _maybe_ , misses his family.

"It's dumb. I just... I'm not supposed to get down over this, right?" Evan knows this is a rhetorical question, but decides he probably wouldn't reply even if it wasn't. "I'm over it, aren't I? I am. I think. It's no big deal. I don't need them. I don't need- I don't-"

He removes his sunglasses and watches as he twists them in (what Evan notes now as) _actually shaking hands_. He swallows hard and closes his eyes.

"Quen..." Evan is practically screaming at himself in his mind, because he wants to fix this, but has _no idea_ what to say.

"Evan," Quentin turns his head to look up at him suddenly, swallowing again (and Evan knows this is just to suppress the lump in his throat). "What do you- I mean- How-" he sighs before trying again. "Imagine me, without my abilities, without- without my confidence. Did that kid really deserve to be given up by two sets of parents? Am I that bad?"

"You mean, imagine you as you are right now? With your defences down like this?" Evan forces himself to say, really hoping this doesn't offend Quentin in some way. "No. You're not- They just- I- What I mean is that... _You're amazing, Quentin_."

"It's okay, loser. We're alone." Quentin drops his head again now, once again shutting his eyes and Evan can't stop staring. "I won't beat the shit outta you for telling the truth."

"I _am_." Evan whispers. Not because he wants to remain quiet. Or for effect. But because he can't force his voice to be any louder. "You're a spectacular person... I think so, at least."

"Bullshit." Quentin smirks sadly at the floor and shakes his head, before his frown reappears. "You're a good guy, Evan. I'm the kid who has the worst issues in this school. How can you - as a good guy - not see that?"

"I do see that." Evan watches his fingers twist and knot in his lap to distract himself. "But - I think - that's why you're my best friend."

"Wow. Friend-zoned. Can this night get any worse?" Quentin huffs, raising his eyebrows before looking up at Evan again.

"Friend-zoned? Q, I don't really get what you mean?" Evan pouts in confusion, risking a glance to Quentin's face and blushing terribly.

"It's a term to explain that situation when you're really into someone, but they just see you as a friend. Y'know, _the suckiest thing ever, really_." Quentin explains casually, as if he's not just exposing his interest in Evan, though the seriousness in eyes tells Evan that this definitely isn't a joke.

"But you're not... _'Into'_ me... Right?" Evan blinks rapidly, staring at Quentin, mind totally frozen but crammed with barely understandable thoughts.

"We've established that I am. Can we leave this topic now, please?" Quentin groans, burying his face in his hands. "It was a dumb thing to say, okay? It would be really, fucking great if you didn't tell anyone about this. _'Rejection'_ clashes with my image."

"I didn't... Ummm... I never did reject you, Q." Evan's exterior is still and unassuming, appearing totally calm and collected, but his head feels as if it'll explode at any second and he kind of wants to squeal with excitement. "I think you're really cool actually."

"Cool." Quentin almost shudders through the word. "Great. Thanks for your pity compliments, Ev."

"Quentin." Evan manages more forcefully. "You're not listening!"

"What?" Quentin asks bluntly, finally looking back up at Evan.

"I-" Evan stops himself almost immediately, because there's a look in Quentin's eyes that makes Evan think the telepath has pretty much assumed what he will say and that it will be bad. So he doesn't say anything. Instead, he shakily leans in and kisses Quentin briefly.

"It's possible to fall for your best friend, Q..." He whispers against Quentin's lips before drawing back, a little surprised by his own confidence.

"Fuck..." Quentin sighs on an outward breath, looking out into the sky again. "Seriously? You-?"

"I thought you were supposed to be a telepath. How could you not notice how much I thought of you?" Evan teases shyly, though he blushes excessively. Because, _wow, this really can't be real._

"You asked me to never go into your head." Quentin replies uncharacteristically calmly, with a more than casual shrug.

"You remembered that?" Evan bites his lip to suppress a bright, wide grin at the thought. Quentin Quire actually _bothering_ to listen to people's restrictions is a big deal.

"Of course I did! You trust me, I don't wanna break that, I guess." Quentin finishes up the sentence with yet another shrug, his sort of _'wow-I'm-being-nice-this-so-isn't-punk'_ tell.

"You're amazing!" Evan squeals, tugging Quentin in for a tight hug (to which the telepath protests excessively), before pulling away with a smile that seems to extend all the way up the lines on his cheeks. He surmises that changing the subject is good before he makes himself seem like a total dork. A faint echo of music coming from the rooms below them gives him an excuse. "Are you going to Julian's party tonight?"

"No way. The New X-Losers drinking alcopops and crying until Logan inevitably turns up and shuts up down? Not my thing." Quentin pokes his tongue out in an expression of disgust before rolling his eyes. "Are you?" He seems a little touchy when asking this, as if he doesn't want Evan attending without him.

"Nope." Evan smiles softly, watching Krakoa bloom flowers to the beat of the faint music. "Julian still scares me, to be honest..."

"Why?" Quentin laughs through the word, leaning into Evan the slightest bit. He enjoys the other's warmth.

"He's always angry..." Evan shudders at the thought, before shaking it off and jumping to his feet suddenly. Grinning, he offers a hand to Quentin.

"Oh, god. What are you doing?" Quentin regards Evan with a pulled up lip and raised eyebrow, a hint of disapproval in his forced expression.

"Get up, idiot!" Evan chuckles, now tugging on Quentin's hands with surprising strength, and easily pulling him to his feet. " _Dance_!"

"I'm not- What? I don't- _No_!" Quentin protests in stutters, expression of confusion and almost disgust still playing out on his features.

"You're such a spoil sport!" Evan laughs, lifting their joined hands over their heads and closing his eyes, as he bobs energetically on the spot. "Dance with me, Quinn."

"I hope you realize how awkward and strange you make my life." Quentin huffs, rolling his eyes, though the sight of Evan practically glowing in his movements brings the most genuine smile to Quentin's lips. "If you wanna dance, why don't we just go to Julian's party? Then we have a far lower chance of - y'know - falling to our deaths."

"This is more relaxing!" Evan squeals excitably, his dark eyelashes shivering against bluish-grey cheeks with his laughter. "Nobody's watching us here! You don't have to worry about what they think!"

"You seriously think I care-" Quentin's snarky response is cut off when he really notices what he's seeing. The way Evan moves to the distant beat; the relaxed expression on his face, coupled with the biggest possible grin; the way his hair falls over closed eyes and sways every which way with each movement. He's suddenly lost and can only think one thing. "Evan?"

"Mmhmm?" Evan somehow manages to hum to the track and respond to Quentin in one sound, and - _fuck_ \- if it isn't totally adorable.

Quentin swallows hard, continuing to stare at the careless boy in front of him. No Apocalypse future. No mutant hate games. No cruelty. _Just a normal seventeen year old kid having a little fun._ Quentin reinforces their telepathic connection for a moment, to make the thought as clear as possible, before projecting, _'Evan, I love you..._ '

Evan stops his movements for a second, opening his eyes, but his grin doesn't slip for even the slightest moment. "Q..." He giggles, leaning in closer, and lowering his voice - after a pause that is _purely_ to worry Quentin a little - to a whisper, "Shut up and dance with me."

_And, of course, Quentin does._


End file.
